Dislocation

Here it is.

If you're not the same as before, good, if you are, as it seems, maybe you've learned something else, who knows, maybe you do it well...
Heard.
No, thanks. I too smell a sour odor, I don’t know, somewhere between mold and a diaper that needs changing.
There’s nothing wrong with making "old" music. But come on, a bit of dignity. Super-sentimental, super-old, super-bullshit.

Ah, Blue Oyster Cult delighted me with the first two or three albums and then with Cultosaurus Erectus, for the rest good music but nothing that compares to even a single toe of the Grateful Dead or Grand Funk Railroad... let’s not kid ourselves.
@[Farnaby] is a Doria fan, you can tell.

I confirm the idiot.
As far as I matter, I confirm Roby's judgment that, while we thought he was insulting for no reason, he was actually just labeling, and rightly so, a user who in two-thirds of the year has only intervened very rarely and only to praise his favorites without accepting any contradiction and, indeed, adopting an attitude of such arrogance and indifference to others' opinions that has no place on a site like this.
In my opinion, it matters as much as it matters.
To @[IlConte] instead, I say that we are all waiting for him here, as always, to annoy us with his lectures and rocvherolledagarajj... rimsngiati what you wrote you were stsnco and incazzato, dead there.
Or I can come to the bank of the Enza and delight him with the entire discography of Jovanotti that I know he appreciates immensely...

Drugs are harmful.

And, I repeat, who cares...

And, in the end, who cares...

I must have mentioned it in response to something about the valiant feicc that brightened our day, three or four days ago... Bianconi is a gem for Italian singer-songwriters, one of the few to combine a distinctive voice—his own, very efficient and dynamic especially in the lower tones (which then become expressive to limits no one else in the Italian singer-songwriter scene knows)—with a dry lyrical touch, somewhere between nihilistic and absent, not exactly typical of our songwriting landscape.

Much has already been said about his not overly verbose or precisely grandiloquent style, as well as the fact that the character doesn’t convey immediate sympathy. Let’s add a layer of healthy arrogance and self-assurance, though justified by the uncommon skills the man, especially in terms of writing, attains.

We can then say that this work interrupts the not-so-regular but riskily repetitive flow of the Baustelle, and we thank the Almighty that for a while we won’t be hearing the boring and monotone solisms of his bandmate Rachele Bastreghi. Furthermore, we’ll add that the presence of a gentleman who writes at these levels (he’s not Pasolini, but, good grief, the landscape is bleak now…) in a suffocating little environment anyway renounces 80s fraying and trallallà choruses with which he had adorned the fine works of his Baustelle.

If we also consider that he manages to be, we’d say, transversal, using indie stylistic elements and more straightforwardly pop habits, here we are, despite the numerous detractors, faced with a highly valid product, this creation of his, not to be considered a "first album," given the perspective one should have of the vast discography of the band of which he is the driving force, and therefore to be listened to without the neurotic anxiety of someone who doesn’t even grasp the construction of his sentences and looks down on the Italian scene of the genre but also without the foolish deference of one who is continuously searching, for heaven’s sake, for the new Italian singer-songwriter.

Great choice, Joe, punctual and dry as always.

I'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that.

Confused and honored by such regard, I will pay you the appropriate tribute as soon as possible. You did very well to dedicate something of yours, always excellently readable, to the Alien in person, identifying in this work a true milestone, the point of no return of an unparalleled and never sufficiently told career. Not to mention that, as you rightly pointed out, the Fourth Way and its Mentor have had for Fripp the same importance as an open door to the Infinite and, in the Master’s work, Bobbo has been able to find valid motivations not so much to pursue his renewed career as an artist but to justify his existence as a man.
And what a man.
Now, perhaps, that astral pain in the ass that is your Dislo would have appreciated a few more technical notes on the tracks, on the musicians, etc.
But it’s not like we’re here to criticize @ [Caspasian]'s work.